


Transferrable Skills

by jollllly



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Classic spies stuff, Enemies to Partners to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings? What are those?, Getting Together, Happy Ending, I can't believe I just added that tag, M/M, Major Character Injury, Making Out, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Owen has a background in theatre, Undercover as a Couple, awkward boner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jollllly/pseuds/jollllly
Summary: Before Owen Carvour joined MI6 he had a different kind of training. One that would happen to come in handy quite a bit in his new profession. Owen Carvour had been an actor. And he found his two careers to be more alike than he had expected.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 180
Kudos: 145





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of terrorism (outlined in fictional events), death, mass casualties (as a result of aforementioned fictional terrorism) - no major characters directly involved
> 
> also, i did very minimal research into MI6, so sorry to any special agents reading this, it's probably not realistic by any means :/

Owen Carvour should’ve just been an actor.

Not to say that he wasn’t. One could argue that in his line of work, half of what he does could be considered acting. And, well, he _was_ an actor. He had been trained, he had gone to university, received his degree, and entered into the industry. He had known exactly what he wanted his future to look like from a young age, and he worked for it, and he did it.

His current reality was a different story.

See, he _had_ been an actor up until a domestic terrorist attack murdered 97 people near his hometown, three of those individuals his immediate family.

Suddenly Owen was wide awake. What was he doing? Playing pretend? Getting paid scraps to play dress up for the wealthy? He was just messing around when his entire world had been destroyed. Who cares about another production of _Twelfth Night_ when innocent lives are being taken and society is crumbling to the ground?

He needed to be doing something else. He had to. For them, his family, for the innocent lives taken and destroyed, ripped away by those monsters set to destroy his home, his country.

Owen’s resume somehow still worked in his favor despite his change in field. His references were glowing, his passion evident. And so, less than a year after his world had ended, he began his training to become an operational officer for the Secret Intelligence Service.

Life as an MI6 agent was incredibly different from his previous life as an actor. Gone were the days of long rehearsals and notebooks full of character analysis and the same lines rewritten over and over until they flowed from his mind naturally. Instead he had long days of meetings and training and dossiers full of information. No more evenings out or getting drunk after closing night and hooking up with that one cast member he’d been flirting with all throughout his contract. Now his nights consisted of sleep, if he was lucky. If he wasn’t working.

There were some skills that came in handy as a spy that had been boosted due to his acting background. Just to name a few, Owen found it quite familiar to slip into character when undercover, solid on his understanding of who he was and why he was allowed to be there, easily convincing even during his first faux assignment. Dialects flowed easily from his brain through his mouth due to his background, although some still took more practice than others to nail convincingly. (Russian still seemed to be his downfall. He’d never forget that Chekhov unit in his second year of university no matter how much he wanted to.)

 _So it’s not too different,_ Owen would attempt to convince himself.

Of course, some days he longed to be back in the artistic world. He missed the camaraderie formed with his castmates and the joy of a successful run. He missed the catharsis that came from a performance and living the life of another for a couple hours. It was hard to transition from the fictional high-stakes of a role to real-world jobs where one wrong move could disastrously impact the world and life as you know it, not to mention kill you. It was a lot of pressure. And it definitely took some getting used to, that’s for sure.

Owen really did believe in his work, though. He knew he was doing something not everyone had the chance to do. He was helping the world become a better place. He was making a difference. He was a protector. Helping to stop realities like the massacre of his family and the 94 others from happening again.

Still, Owen carried his love of theatre with him. Anytime work had him traveling he made sure to pack at least one of his favorite plays. It was comforting. It made wherever he went feel a little bit like home. Gave him some security. Allowed him to take a few hours to release the pressures of his job and once again embark on a familiar journey with familiar characters with a familiar end. It was like having a family again.

Being an MI6 agent doesn’t result in an easy life. In all honesty Owen was lonely.

Okay, sure, he’d had some hookups, some Tinder dates, a few workplace flirts. But nothing real. Nothing that ever lasted. Nothing to write home about.

 _Not that there was anyone there to read it anyways,_ Owen would remind himself. _That’s the reason you’re here, Carvour. Or have you forgotten? Life isn’t all about romance. There are more important things for you to spend your time with._

Owen rarely found time outside work to do anything social anyways, so it’s not like catching up with old friends was much of an option. He had some work friends, yes, but it’s hard to get close when you’re constantly being shipped off to another country for a few weeks or going deep undercover in an extremist organization. The spy lifestyle wasn’t the easiest to deal with if you were a social butterfly, but Owen was fine not getting too close with anybody. He didn’t feel the need to risk losing anyone else anyways.

And then Owen Carvour met Curt Mega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so excited to be posting this!!! i've had this idea since january so i'm very happy to finally be sharing it with you all!
> 
> reminder that tags will be updated each chapter as necessary and any additional warnings will be in the notes of each chapter


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of alcohol/drinking on the job (but no more than canon scene 1)  
> mentions of killing people because, like, spies
> 
> idk why i feel the need to mention it but this is in owen's pov, so all thoughts about curt's character are through his eyes not mine

Agent Curt Mega.

Something about him was different.

This young American agent was reckless and cocky and obnoxious. Owen could not stand him. He never stuck to a single plan, regardless of how simple the mission was. He was always pushing limits and going too far. His ego was huge, and his apparent need to be the best was even larger.

Their work ethics could not have been more different. Owen was always prepared. He always knew what was coming, always had his dossier memorized, always had a backup plan. No stone was left unturned.

Mega on the other hand was never prepared. He would show up knowing a minimal amount of information, wing it, and somehow,  _ somehow _ still succeeded. It was infuriating, and Owen was jealous.

Not to mention his penchant for drinking on the job. Every time Mega brought out his flask Owen had to resist scolding him. Yelling didn’t work the first time, and definitely didn’t work the subsequent times. In fact, Mega actually seemed to enjoy pissing off Owen by endangering them on the job.

“It’s fine. It’s just a sip,” he’d defend. “I know how much alcohol I can handle. Just because you may be a lightweight doesn’t mean we all are.” Then he’d flash his haughty smirk and take another swig from his flask before stowing it back in his pocket.

God, sometimes Mega just got right under Owen’s skin.

Not to say that Owen didn’t do the same to Mega, but, hey, at least Owen had an excuse for not liking the American. Mega just hated him because he was sensible, professional, and responsible. Okay,  _ maybe _ Owen could stand to chill out a bit, but it wasn’t his fault! Maybe if Mega showed a smidgen of caution or care during their missions Owen would back off, but alas he never seemed to care at all.

“Stop being so dramatic!” Curt hissed at Owen. The pair were crouched behind a dumpster, hiding from the guards who had run in their direction.

“Oh, I’m sorry that I find the fate of international relations to be an important issue that has fallen into our hands at the moment, not to mention how our very lives could be at stake.”

“I don’t know about you, but I signed up to help protect my country and our allies, whatever it takes, so a little bit of life-threatening danger doesn’t scare me.”

“It’s still your fault we’re in this position.”

“And I’d do it again too. I had a shot, I took it, and I succeeded. Mr. Second-in-Command is dead now, they’ll be scrambling without his influence. You’re welcome. Now stop your squawking, they’ll hear us.”

A few hours later the two agents were resting in their motel room, patching up scuffs, and sending mission updates to their superiors.

“You had no right to take that shot. You could have jeopardized months of work had you missed.” Owen was still furious the mission had taken an unexpected turn due to Mega’s actions.

“Then we’re lucky I didn’t,” the other man blew him off, not even looking up from his laptop.

“You can’t just disobey orders! That was reckless. We had no backup available to us, no one on comm; this was supposed to be surveillance only. If we had been caught on our way out, there’s no way we would have survived.”

“Once again, good thing we weren’t,” Mega paired with an over-dramatic eye roll.

Owen scoffed at the man in front of him.

“Listen, dude,” Mega continued. “One of the biggest threats in our world’s second-in-command was in my sight. I’m not gonna just let him walk free and terrorize our country any longer. I have a license to kill, so I’m gonna use it.”

“We could be discharged because of this! I’m not having you ruin my life just so you can fuel your pride and have something else to gloat about.”

Curt chuckled lightly at how worked up Owen was over this, “Relax, okay? It was all me, I didn’t warn you, there was no way you could’ve stopped me. It’s all clear in the mission notes. Besides, since it’s an A.S.S. mission, we both know Cynthia would have blamed me anyways. Either way, bad guy is dead, and we’re one step closer to taking them down. I may get a ton of shit later, but she’ll be grateful in the long run. That bastard had to die sooner or later.”

Thankfully both agents were able to keep their positions after a round of harsh scolding from Cynthia and warnings from the MI6 higher-ups involved in the success of the overarching mission, and the two went their separate ways, hopeful they wouldn’t have to work with each other for a long while after that mess of a job.

But it seemed the universe had it out for Owen Carvour, because he consistently found himself partnered again and again with Mega even more frequently than usual. Somehow their earlier blunder (Mega’s blunder, if you asked Owen) hadn’t damaged their reputation of nearly spotlessly pulling off almost every mission tossed their way. As arrogant and reckless as Mega was, he still got the job done; for that, at least, Owen was grateful. Didn’t mean he would stop nagging him about his non-agency approved practices, though. They were going to get him killed someday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings on this one -- let me know in the comments or message me on tumblr @ billtedrights if you'd like me to add anything!

As time went on, the agents found they clicked much better outside work than during missions. In fact, when they weren’t in high-pressure and life-threatening situations (and when Mega wasn’t putting their lives in danger), Owen didn’t hate him as much. Mega’s charisma was more authentic than Owen had first realized, and he was actually quite charming once you got past the bravado.

Every so often, after a job well done, the pair of spies would go out for a drink. With their mission reports sent and nowhere to be until the next afternoon, they were free. It was during these nights, these untethered evenings, that Owen began to find the positives of a partnership.

For the first time in a while, he could feel the beginnings of a kind of friendship. It had been too long since Owen had had anyone really. He had few ties to his life back home, nothing strong enough to keep communication flowing. His higher-ups were definitely not his friends, and none of his coworkers within MI6 seemed keen on sparking even the slightest relationship with each other. Owen couldn’t really blame them. There was always that lingering fear, that doubt. When someone would depart for a job. If they would be coming back. Is this it? The job that would go wrong? This constant threat of grief was enough to repel the agents from any sort of camaraderie other than duty to their agency. In their line of work, it was just easiest that way.

Then again, none of them were people Owen saw very often, not if they were actually doing their jobs. So there was no forced friendship due to exposure with the other SIS agents. Not like he was experiencing with Mega, albeit somewhat against his will. With the amount of time he was spending with the other man, completely due to their directors partnering them up time after time, Owen could no longer deny they were going to have to get used to each other.

It was through this time outside of work that Owen found he didn’t  _ really _ hate Mega. Sure, they clashed a tad bit, but in actuality how aggravating would it be to constantly deal with a clone of yourself? Sure, during a mission the harmony would be glorious, and there’d be no threat of surprise or unexpected changes of plans. And fewer close-calls at that rate. But outside work? With the amount of time he had begun spending with Curt? Previously he may have thought differently, but Owen now did not believe he could stand accompanying another version of himself for that long. How boring would that be? Besides opposites do attract after all.

No, Owen began to understand why his director had taken a liking to their partnership. As time went on and Curt and Owen continued to be paired up together, they learned each other, both during work and outside of work.

This did nothing to stop their bickering. Oh, God, no. That was very likely never to go away. But they did begin to expect it. They worked to understand each other. Started to subconsciously compromise when it came to those recurring pet peeves. They could tell when the other was about to do something stupid. They knew when to fight it, and they knew when to just give it up and have their back.

Because of this Curt and Owen became even more successful during their missions. Their coordination flowed, evidenced by the fewer angry calls Curt received from his director during each mission and the less frequent formal talking-tos they received back at headquarters. So their partnership continued.

Over time, there was one thing he hadn’t noticed. Owen wasn’t quite sure when he started subconsciously referring to his partner by his first name. He didn’t want to linger much longer on that thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry these chapters have been so short, i SWEAR actual plot and scenes are in the next chapter


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't think there are any warnings for this one? lmk if i should add anything!

Owen and Curt were paired up on another mission of course. Normally Owen would have acted more disgruntled over the partnership, regardless of the fact that the two had managed to get along much better, but his interest had been piqued by the mention of their covers. He always loved receiving a new character to portray, and he had to hold his mind back from racing off to fill in a backstory and analysis during the remainder of his mission briefing. It was a simple cover, a reason for the pair to be on the invite list for the party. Their plant on the inside would take care of getting their names on the list, they just needed to embody the couple and get inside in order to carry out their duties. That gave Owen quite a bit of room to play.

He was quite pleased as it had been a while since his last cover mission, and Owen had never been assigned to a co-op cover mission before. He was anxious to draft his character and bounce ideas off Curt about their relationship and their personalities. He hoped Curt would play nice. This was his specialty, and no amount of sass or teasing from the other man about his fervor was going to stop Owen from appreciating the use of his craft within his occupation.

Thankfully, Curt was a good sport.

And so, Edward Norfolk—

_ “Ed for short.” _

_ “But Eddie to me,” Curt shot back with a wink. _

—and Damian Adams,—

_ “‘Dame’ is a ridiculous nickname.” _

_ “No, it’s not; shut up. It’ll be cute once you get used to saying it.” _

—a soon-to-be-wed couple, found themselves with invitations to The Wells Co. Charity Gala, which, despite the name, did no such thing to support charities of any kind. Edward was a close cousin of David Moore, an MI6 agent named Thomas Bell who was in deep cover under Liam Wells.

_ “If you don’t mind me asking, since we already have an agent undercover, why are we necessary?” _

_ “Bell is in this for the long-haul. We need to keep his position secure, his cover needs to remain intact, and that means he must remain uninvolved in this mission apart from existing as a means to get you inside. When you and A.S.S. Agent Mega fulfill your duties, Agent Bell will stay in direct contact with Wells to allow zero doubt in his loyalty. Any other questions, Carvour?” _

Edward had come to Birmingham to visit his cousin David in order to announce his engagement in person as they were so close, having nearly grown up together. David had heard they were in town, and, after the news had been dropped, he figured “what better way to celebrate than by going to an elegant party?” His generous boss had graciously allowed their invitation as a sort of engagement gift to wish good tidings for the couple.

That much had been provided for the pair, but Owen had gotten a bit carried away, and the two agents actually ended up having fun forming their covers’ histories together.

“What if you were a tailor?”

“What, and lean into the stereotype that all gay men are fashion experts? Didn’t take you for a bigot, Carvour.”

“Oh sod off, you know that’s not what I meant.”

The pair lounged about Owen’s flat. Curt had flown in from D.C. that morning and immediately crashed the other man’s place. They had a few hours before their next meeting at MI6 headquarters, and Curt had planned to spend the majority of that time napping. It seemed Owen had different ideas.

“Maybe a flight attendant?”

“Who’s being stereotypical now?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to think of something that gives us a reason to have met.”

“And I’m the type of man who’d give my number to a flight attendant?”

“You may not be, but maybe Edward is. Besides, who said I didn’t give you my number first?”

“Fairly sure you’re not supposed to flirt with passengers. It shows favoritism.”

“As if Damian would be able to resist with a guy like Edward on board,” Curt mumbled. They sat in silence for a moment, Curt deep in thought, racking his brain for a better idea. While Owen was left trying to distinguish what the other man had meant by his comment, Curt mused aloud some more. “But then, I guess, flight attendants have such a busy, irregular schedule, there wouldn’t be much time for us to have met up soon after that,” Curt groaned. “Why is this so difficult?”

“It’s only difficult because you’re making it difficult. You’re overthinking it. Where’s the impulsive Mega I know and love?”

“He’s getting  _ stressed out _ because you make this seem so easy!” Curt dramatically flopped his head back onto the chair he was sat in.

Owen allowed this moment of theatricality to play out silently as he rolled his eyes at the other man. A small smile gracing his lips. What an idiot he was.

“So, you love me, huh?” A teasing voice suddenly interrupted Owen’s thoughts.

Owen momentarily faltered, “Erm, what?” A small blush began to creep onto his cheeks as he glanced back at the other man. He had been entirely caught off guard. Curt’s eyes were sparkling with mischief, a familiar, yet dangerous, look.

“‘Where’s the impulsive Mega I know and love?’” Owen scoffed at Curt’s impression of him and regained the composure he had lost in his shock. “I mean, I knew I was irresistible, and it was only a matter of time, but seriously, Carvour? That’s a bit unprofessional, don’t you think? Didn’t see ‘falling madly in love with your dashing American partner’ in the mission dossier.”

Owen rolled his eyes as Curt teased him, memories popping up from their first few jobs together and the constant bickering that had occurred between the two over professionalism on the job.

“Yes, you’ve caught me. I’m hopelessly in love with you, Agent Curt Mega. Now can we please get back to building our covers?” Owen’s sarcasm was unmistakable, and it was Curt’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Fine, let’s just go with tailor.”

“Brilliant.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some curt pov apparently
> 
> no warnings on this one, but this chapter deals with the topics of consent and pretend intimacy
> 
> i ask that you please read the end notes after this chapter if you can!

Quickly enough it was the evening of the gala, and Curt and Owen were getting ready in their hotel room.

“Barb just messaged. Car is on its way and should be here soon,” Curt updated the other man as he fixed his hair in the mirror, glancing at the reflection of his partner behind him.

With this information gathered, Owen finished lint-rolling his trousers and checked his watch.

“Curt?”

The American’s eyes shifted from the rogue curl that refused to stay in place with the rest of his hair to Owen’s reflection. The latter jerked his head at an angle, beckoning the other man over, and Curt gave up his losing battle with his remaining disobedient hair in favor of making his way to his partner.

For once in his life Owen looked uneasy, and Curt could see that whatever he was walking into wasn’t going to be a normal pep talk. He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Owen.

“What’s up?” he asked, putting an easy smile on his face. Maybe it was just nerves? Not that Carvour had ever gotten anxious before a mission in this way. Normally he would just get overly bossy and run over their entire plan and every possible way it could go wrong. Classic control freak.

But this was new.

Owen took a breath and leaned back against the desk in front of Curt. “Okay, we can’t really rehearse, and this’ll have to be quick,” he took another glance at his watch before continuing, “but we can be sure we don’t cross any boundaries. If we’re doing this, we’re going to do this right.”

Curt took a moment to try to process what the man had said. He squinted up at him, very unsure where this conversation was going. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re going undercover as a couple. That’s an obvious shift from our current dynamic. We need to talk this through. How do you feel about using pet names? During the mission. Any words to steer clear of?”

Curt shrugged his shoulders before replying, “Nope. Pet names are fine by me. If it seems natural.”

“They work for me as well. What about holding hands?”

Curt shot him an amused smile, obviously humoring the other man, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Owen raised an eyebrow in response to his cheek but continued on. “Fantastic, same here. Would it work for you if we needed to put arms around each other? Cuddle up?”

“No, actually, as my fiancé I need you to stand at least five feet away from me at all times.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me,” Owen snapped. “I just want us to be clear on where our comfortabilities lie. This is an issue of consent, and it’s not a joke.”

Curt suddenly sobered, unaware that the other man felt so passionately about the conversation. “Sorry, yeah, that’s cool with me.” He still didn’t quite get why Owen was making such a big deal out of this.

“Thank you. For me as well. Kissing?”

Curt couldn’t hold back a small scoff, “Of course.”

“Don’t give me ‘of course’. Give me ‘yes’, ‘no’, or specifics; there’s no such thing as ‘of course’.”

“Yes, then! God! Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“Because I don’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, and I don’t want you doing anything I’m uncomfortable with. We are individuals, and we have autonomy over our own bodies. That is something we need to respect about ourselves and others. What is so hard to understand?” He took a moment to pause, looking down, before returning his gaze to Curt. “Kissing is good with me as well, by the way.” Owen straightened from his position resting against the desk and walked closer to the other man, visibly cooling down from his outburst, “Stand up.”

Curt eyed the other man and got to his feet warily, “Okay…” Any other time he would have tacked on a quip or joke about how bossy the other man was being, but something told him Owen wouldn’t respond very well to that in their present moment.

Curt situated himself in front of him when Owen spoke again.

“All right.”

The two men stood facing each other, eyes meeting.

After a few seconds of silence, Curt spoke up.

“What’re we doing?”

“Just taking each other in. Give it a moment. Relax.” Owen’s voice was much calmer than it had been during their previous conversation.

The two kept their positions for what could have been five minutes or thirty seconds before Owen nodded.

“Brilliant. I’m feeling fairly comfortable, how about you?”

“I mean, yeah? I’m just confused about what this is for. I don’t know what kind of bullshit training MI6 put you through, but—”

“It’s not bullshit, and it’s not MI6,” Owen interrupted. He didn’t elaborate any further. Instead he put on an air of professionalism, as if he were lecturing a class. “Comfortability with your partner is the first step to creating convincing false intimacy. Next, since we established that physical connection is something we’re both comfortable with,” his gaze grew a bit sharper, guilting Curt for his earlier sass, “we will now discuss specific physical boundaries in terms of areas of our bodies we do  _ not _ feel comfortable with the other person touching. These are called ‘fences’. Fences are off limits. No explanation necessary, just off limits. My fences are my pelvis and my hair.” Owen kept his stare level at Curt until the other man realized that was his cue to respond.

Curt sputtered for a moment, caught off guard with this strange prompt. “Uhh, um, my… fences are my stomach, the back of my neck, my ears…?” He trailed off with uncertainty as he reached the end of his list, glancing at Owen to note his response, ready to be chastised again for not taking whatever they were doing seriously enough.

But the other man only nodded in support.

“Okay, so I will not touch your stomach, the back of your neck, or your ears.”

“And I won’t touch your hair or your pelvis,” Curt said cautiously, unused to the strangely-formal word choice.

Owen exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding, “Wonderful. Thanks. I know that was kind of strange for you, but I feel a lot better knowing where we stand.”

Curt shrugged, eyes still squinted in confusion, “Yeah, sure. New tactic, but, hey, I’m not judging.” He let out a soft laugh to try to relieve the tension remaining in the room, but it came out more forced than he had intended. Curt cleared his throat and made his way over to the mirror, once again trying to wrangle his stray hairs.

Owen turned away and let out a deep breath. “All right. So we get in, find Bell, meet Wells, mingle, confirm Wells is occupied with Bell, sneak out, bug the office, return, mingle some more, and then we will take our leave. It’s important to make sure Bell himself is with Wells since his cover needs to be secure. If they have any speculation that he could have been involved in our plan this overall mission is blown, and we’re back to zero. Now, ‘David’ will be—” Owen was suddenly very rudely interrupted by Curt’s phone buzzing.

“Ah! Perfect timing. Car’s here. Shut up, and let’s get going… dearest,” he tacked on with a wink before throwing open the door and leading the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shows a glimpse into the bare minimum of theatrical intimacy (as a product of the author's osmosis and observation) and only showcases a very brief example. It will only be slightly expanded on throughout this fic. PLEASE do not assume you understand Theatrical Intimacy Education (TIE) or have experience with it based on this information alone. I recommend checking out [theatricalintimacyed.com](https://www.theatricalintimacyed.com/) or the book ‘Staging Sex’ by Chelsea Pace if you are interested in learning more about how to ethically reproduce intimacy on stage while respecting the autonomy of those involved!
> 
> also from what I know TIE is american but this is my fic so idc, owen has this knowledge bc i say so


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally starting what we've all been waiting for
> 
> in this chapter i pretend to know how spying works..... i tried?
> 
> warning: slight, implied hint of homophobia, but not much

Damian Adams and Edward Norfolk approached the entrance to the large mansion and were led through a large foyer to join the other guests in the ballroom. Arm in arm they took in the room and those around them. Ed caught the eye of a familiar face and lit up in recognition before tugging along his fiancé as they made their way, hand-in-hand, towards the figure. David Moore was mingling with some work friends when he spotted the two across the room.

“Ah, here they come! The men of the hour,” David announced as the pair got closer. “Ed! Wonderful to see you, as always.” He greeted the man with a hug. “Anthony, Lydia, this is my cousin Edward and his new fiancé Damian.” He turned back to the pair as a combination of nods and handshakes were exchanged, “I am so glad you were able to make it tonight. It’s already quite the party.”

“We’re just glad to be invited!” Curt lit up as he glanced around the room, enthusiasm evident as events such as these would not be part of daily life for Damian Adams, regardless of how many Curt himself had attended just within the last year.

“Yes! David, you  _ must _ introduce us to your boss. Dame and I would love to thank him in person for his generosity.”

“Will do. I’m sure he’s milling about. You two go mingle yourselves! I’ll be sure to wave you over when I find him.”

The pair departed with smiles and nods at David’s colleagues before turning their attention towards the life around them.

Time passed quickly enough, Curt and Owen mostly kept to themselves, not wanting to get too chummy and pull too much attention. David did indeed call over Ed and Damian to meet Liam Wells himself.

He was charismatic, as all entrepreneurial head-honchos seem to be. He shook their hands easily with a smile and shared bland well-wishes and congratulations to the couple before heading off with David to talk with some of the more important guests that evening. David sent a nod their way as they parted, signalling to the other spies that he should be busy for the foreseeable future.

As to not seem too suspicious by immediately exiting into the rest of the house right after talking to the host himself, the pair of men mingled a bit more, making their way to the edge of the room before pausing to chat close to their exit door.

After what they considered to be long enough, Curt and Owen slipped out of the room, hand in hand. No one spared them a glance.

As soon as they were far enough away from the ballroom Curt turned on his communicator.

“We’re on, Barb.”

“Alrighty! So leaving the ballroom you’ll want to go down the hall to your left until you reach a T. Take the left and enter through the first door you see on your right. It’ll look like any other door in the hallway, so don’t pass it up.”

As soon as Barb began speaking, the men began their journey down the hall, looking out for any lingering party-goers or worse, guards.

“What? This guy doesn’t have any locks on his office?” Curt questioned.

“Not on this one. Besides, all the tech and important documents are definitely kept safely secured, but we just need the room. Not much to take from him there. Besides, this is an event for his business connections, most of them would have been in here anyways and seen there was nothing to steal. I’m sure his other offices and meeting rooms have much more security tonight.” Barb rattled off as they made their way to the (just as Barb had warned) inconspicuous door. Barb was correct again when it was unlocked and empty. The two spies got to work.

“Um! Incoming, guys! Wells is on the move, and he’s got an entourage. Better get out of there quick.”

“Just need one more moment, dear. Aaaalmost done…” Owen was fiddling with a set of bugs as he placed them in the bookshelf.

“You need to get out of there right now. In five seconds you won’t make it out the door without them catching you!” Barb’s voice 

“Owen!” Curt’s eyes were wide.

Owen cursed at himself. He knew they shouldn’t have waited so long before leaving the party. He wasn’t quite done yet.

“New plan, Barb,” Owen whispered into his mic before turning it off and facing Curt with a matching expression. “Trust me?”

Curt nodded before he was suddenly being ushered backwards. The pair traveled a few feet until the back of Curt’s knees hit something, causing the two to fall onto a couch.

Owen shoved Curt’s jacket off his shoulders, and the other man caught on, loosening Owen’s tie and undoing a few buttons before sliding his hands behind his neck. Owen’s hands found their home tangled in Curt’s hair by the time voices approached the door.

The pair of spies quickly learned that the easiest way to make international threats uncomfortable is by making out in front of them. You see, more often than not, people are quick to avert their eyes. Any conversation afterwards doesn’t go on very long, most people would just want to get out of the situation and forget it ever happened. Especially if a strong, macho, heterosexual, mob boss, manly-man and his entourage walk in on two men.

Funnily enough, that trick would come in handy for the pair of agents on multiple occasions. This just happened to be the first of them.

And so, as it happened, international business tycoon Liam Wells and Co. walked right into the room and were immediately ambushed by the sight of Ed Norfolk and Damian Adams going at it. Needless to say, David Moore, who was in attendance, took the role of mediator.

“Ah, Ed!” an awkward chuckle escaped the man as the couple slowly separated, faces red as they slowly seemed to become aware of their audience.

The two spies untangled themselves and tried in vain to straighten out their appearances.

Wells’s second in command, Charles Shields, let out a cough, “Gentlemen. If you don’t mind, we have some business to attend to. Might I suggest you take this… coupling elsewhere? Your hotel, perhaps? Or at the very least the toilet down the hall?”

The men muttered their apologies to their host and David, who was trying his best to make light of the situation.

“In the honeymoon phase and not even married yet. You’re ahead of schedule there, Ed!” he teased awkwardly, clapping his cousin on the shoulder.

Owen cleared his throat and sent a shy smile towards Curt, “Well, can’t really blame me.” He reached for the other man’s hand.

“I’ll see you two lovebirds later. Damian, take care as always. Don’t think I need to remind you to take care of Eddie here, do I?”

The man in question let out a small squawk in response, face still bright red and not meeting anyone’s eyes, half-hiding behind his fiancé.

“We’ll be off then. Apologies once again Mr. Wells. Please don’t think poorly of David for this. Wedding excitement is all it was. We’ll be out of your hair. Thank you again for the invitation tonight, we had a lovely time,” Ed prattled off as the pair made their way past the group and out the door of the office.

As they closed the door behind them, the two heard David apologize once more before Wells brushed him off, obviously wanting to forget the whole encounter.

“No worries, Moore. Can’t say ‘no’ to passion. Now, back to what Charles was saying…”

When the door was safely closed, the pair were off, walking quickly out of the house towards safety.

Owen took advantage of their close proximity to whisper in Curt’s ear, “And that’s why we discuss fences.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief mention of alcohol/using alcohol as a coping mechanism (kinda)  
> This chapter includes discussion of consent and its importance. Nothing graphic or sexual, just in its basic form. There are implications of manipulation and forced compliance, but again, nothing in great detail or very fleshed out, mere mentions.
> 
> this one is half curt pov/half owen pov because idc it's my fic i do what i want

The pair of spies made it safely back to their hotel room, and, only after they checked in with Barb following their close-call, Owen let out a sigh of relief.

“That was far too close for comfort. I’m not confident they won’t piece it together when they find the bugs.”

“ _If_ they find the bugs. But either way I think we made a good show that Ed and Damian aren’t quite the brightest bulbs in the shed. No way Wells would think they could be capable of espionage,” Curt busied himself as he discarded his jacket and began dressing down to his undershirt.

“Are you all right? How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I’m good.”

“Curt. You’re not meeting my eyes. Did I cross a line?”

“No, you’re fine. I just…. This whole check-in thing is new to me.” Truthfully there was a lot more on Curt’s mind.

Like how close of a call that was. How close they were to being caught, to being killed, or far worse. How they didn’t get out of there in time. But how easy it was to understand where Owen had been going with the diversion. How well they’d been working together recently. And how long it had been since he’d been with someone. And how this totally means he’s kinda into Owen. And how he wasn’t nearly drunk enough, or drunk at all actually, to dwell any further on that.

But this was a start.

“I’ve never really thought about it before. What I’m not comfortable with. I’ve never actually…” he searched for the right words, “had autonomy? Consent isn’t really a thing in our training. For A.S.S. it’s just: You do what you need to do to get the job done. And… and I don’t know why that suddenly bothers me.”

Owen let out a soft sigh and sat next to Curt, laying a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“It bothers you because now you know that it doesn’t have to be that way. It’s only natural. I should’ve gone about this a better way, but we didn’t have much time after I wasted so much of it mentally debating whether or not I would make you do it, so I rushed it. I’m sorry. This is all on me.”

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s my own mental shit.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve taken you into consideration.”

This silenced the pair for a moment as they both knew he was correct.

“Earlier you said that wasn’t MI6 training,” Curt looked up at Owen, finally meeting his eyes. “What was it then?”

Owen looked away and ran a hand through his hair, “I, erm… I was an actor. Used to be. Before S.I.S. Trained, went to university, all that. A theatre actor, specifically, although I can’t say I didn’t dabble in film acting when it was presented to me.”

“And so all of this… the fences stuff? That’s theatre training?”

Owen took a deep breath. “Yeah. When you’re an actor you’re used to doing what you’re told. The director tells you to do something, and you do it; it’s your job. You’re expected to comply or your job security could be at risk. You could be labeled as ‘difficult’ and blacklisted.”

“Sounds familiar,” Curt said with a laugh, “Although they’d probably just kill us instead.”

Owen softly chuckled at the other man’s connection before continuing, “So you agree to everything, no matter if you’re comfortable with what’s being asked of you. But then you start to become no more than a puppet. You’re no longer in control of your body. You have no say, no autonomy. And I definitely felt that. Quite a bit. But later on I was introduced to this new way of approaching staged intimacy. It gave me my power back. I could say ‘no’, I could be clear about my boundaries, and I could be sure that, whatever situation I was being placed in, it was completely consensual.”

“So now you apply those concepts to your current profession.”

Owen nodded in assent, “And why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t we be able to say what we will and will not do with our bodies?”

Curt looked away.

“When I took this job I signed up to protect my country and our allies, in any way necessary. I’m already a pawn.”

“But wouldn’t it be nice to take back just a small bit of control?”

“A.S.S. doesn’t care about boundaries. You do what you need to do in order to protect your country. I was trained to do whatever it takes, whatever necessary. My own personal boundaries mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

“But they don’t, Curt. They do mean something. Your boundaries, your comfortability has an effect on your work. By consistently ignoring them you are shutting down. You’ll become little more than a machine, doing what you were told to do. Then where do you go?” 

Soon after, Curt bid Owen goodnight, their conversation weighing heavily on his mind.

That night, Owen couldn’t stop thinking about Curt and how much his introduction to theatrical intimacy training had affected him. He recalled his own experience having been in a much different light. Owen had been overjoyed with the enlightenment gained with this new knowledge during his training. It had been a source of power for him. It encouraged him to continue within his field, enlivened with the ability to choose.

But it seemed Curt was taking this very differently. Of course, he couldn’t be sure, but Owen wondered if he had done the right thing. If this would become a problem. If this would lead to disillusionment rather than reignited passion.

Owen couldn’t help but wonder how intense A.S.S. training was. How much of you did they strip away? How enforced is complete compliance? Do their agents have any say? Any rights? Could this really be the first time Curt had even thought about his own self-agency?

Thoughts about his partner stayed with Owen for the rest of the night. Worries, thoughts, and dreams about Curt. His training, the American agency, how bewildered he had been by the comfortability exercises, how he had given up and gone with it. Had that just been him reverting to his training? Do as others say even as Owen had been trying to give him the power? Had he taken advantage of him? Had Curt fully understood what he was agreeing to?

_Of course he had, Carvour, he hadn’t held back his snark. He hadn’t held back in the moment either..._

Owen didn’t dare let his thoughts stray much further than that. He knew this trick. He knew how the body could get confused. If he humored those thoughts it would only lead to heartbreak and disappointment. No, he knew this may come. He refused to think further about his partner in that way. It was fake, it was pretend. Just because his brain got mixed up about it doesn’t mean he had to welcome it. No, best to ignore it.

Regardless, Owen went to bed that night worrying about Curt.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... i can't believe i just added the tag "awkward boner"
> 
> okay this chapter gets a bit steamy but like nothing further than making out really. also, the boner thing isn't sexualized at all, so don't worry about it

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Curt whispered as he tried to get a signal on his earpiece. Nothing was coming in from Barb, and his watch hadn’t received communication from her either. They were on their own.

Except for the brutes chasing them.

“Shit!” Curt cursed as he gave up, instead focusing on matching Owen’s pace as they flew out of the building.

“No Barb?” Owen mumbled between breaths, eyes flicking in every direction, watching for their tail.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Curt snapped. “We gotta find some way to lose them ourselves.”

Suddenly they were out of the building and winding through the streets, doing their best to be spontaneous, but not enough to accidentally circle back right where they had come from. This would have been so much easier with comms. How the fuck did they just stop working all of a sudden?

Their snaking path did not seem to shake the men following them, and hope was dwindling. But, come on, they could do this. Get your head on straight, think.

Suddenly Owen spotted an alleyway, nearly hidden from the street. It looked promising.

He nodded in its direction, Curt seamlessly picking up on his message, movements completely in sync with the other man.

They ducked into the alley and tried to quietly make their way between the buildings before realizing, hearts in their throats, they had reached a dead end. A quick glance back and Curt shoved himself and Owen into the shadows, out of the line of sight of the shadowy figures creeping down the street they had turned from.

Pressed against some doorway Owen could only rely on his hearing and his partner’s face in order to tell if they were safe.

Heavy footsteps raced along the street, slowing as they reached the crossroads. There was shouting to search the alley as the majority of the footsteps continued into the distance, away from them.

Less people, for now at least. That’s always better. Curt and Owen could probably take them.

Owen saw Curt’s eyes widen at the order, quickly followed by the face the American made when he had to think quickly. Tiny nods as his eyes tracked to Owen’s. His breathing was quick. Suddenly, barely a moment elapsing following the yells, Owen could see that Curt had a plan. All it took as one word, whispered barely audibly.

“Fences?”

Owen blinked and quickly replied, “Same as last.”

“Same here.”

And suddenly they crashed together, Owen’s back digging further into the doorjamb as he brought his hands to the other man’s face. Curt began removing his jacket. It was much too noticeable, almost certainly something these goons would be looking for. Besides, a bit of rucking up only helps sell it more, right? He hoped, at least.

“Make ‘em uncomfortable. Go big,” Owen whispered against the other man’s lips.

With his jacket gone and shoved beneath their feet, Curt grabbed Owen’s hips and trailed his lips down the other man’s throat.

Owen was not joking when he said to go big. Leading by example, he let out a few frankly obscene noises, grasping at his partner’s hair with one hand and letting his head tilt, strands hair falling into his face as if on cue, helping to shield his face from any recognizability.

There’s only so much they could do. They hoped whoever had followed them wouldn’t care to look too closely at them and their charade.

Speaking of, the footsteps grew closer. Sounded like one person. They could feel each other relax further at this realization. One person would be easy enough to take down if this failed.

As their tail grew closer, he slowed, obviously put off by their display, hopefully too uncomfortable to complete his search.

Still, the spies reconnected their mouths to give this stranger even less of an opportunity to recognize one of them.

Curt’s hands grasped Owen’s waist, right hand gripping the gun tucked into the Brit’s waistband.

Owen let out a soft groan as he felt this, communicating his understanding of the plan should their cover be blown.

Damn, he’s good at this, Curt managed to think through the heat and rush of the moment.

Curt could hear their tail get closer and closer, until they were mere feet away. Had either of the spies been looking at the man, they would have seen him sneer and turn away, almost as soon as his eyes landed on them, marking them as not suspicious. They kept their positions as he continued his search of the rest of the alleyway before heading back towards the adjacent street they had come from at nearly double the time he had taken previously.

As soon as the footsteps faded, Curt and Owen stilled, unmoving, just listening. Waiting to hear anything from the street, any other lackeys after them. Curt stared at Owen, the redness of his face, the heavy breaths he tried to quiet. He became hyper-aware of the other man’s gaze. Curt shifted slightly, and, as his legs brushed against the other man’s, suddenly he became even more aware of something  _ else _ that had occurred during their little routine.

His face heated even more at the realization. There was no way Owen didn’t feel it. Fuck, he did not mean for that to happen. He’s not even into Owen! Sure, he’s hot, and he does not at all mind getting cozy with him on jobs, but this was never something he had expected to happen to him on a mission. God, Owen’s never gonna wanna work with him again.

When he deemed that the street had been silent long enough Curt quickly backed away, removing himself from Owen’s personal space. Owen straightened himself out as Curt picked up his jacket from the ground, dusting it off and strategically holding it in front of him. Curt urged his body to calm down.

After a pair of cursory attempts to get their communicators working once more, to no avail, the partners’ eyes met.

“Christ, that was close.” Owen sighed at the same time as Curt blurted out an “I’m sorry.”

Owen blinked for a second before catching on to what the other man was saying.

“Oh! No, don’t apologize; it’s fine. Let’s just make our way back to the hotel, update our reports. Then we’ll talk. You know Cynthia might kill you if you keep her in the dark much longer,” he joked with the other man.

Curt scoffed in response, nevertheless appreciative of his nonchalance, “It’s not my fault comms went out, but leave it to her to think of some way to pin it on me.”

The spies made their way back to their hotel, their future awkward conversation looming over their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't believe "same as last" is an acceptable fences check, but for fanfic purposes it works for them


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's short, sorry about that!
> 
> i don't think there are any warnings, but as always let me know if you think i should add any!

Their mission was being cut short. With comms not working, they were directed to report back to A.S.S. Headquarters the next morning. Faulty equipment may be just that, but there was always the possibility that the spies had been compromised, possibly betrayed by one of their own. Cynthia was not risking anything. Her agency had no time for defective technology and no safety for traitors. If there was a mole in their midst, Cynthia would find them.

With their new orders, the partners were released from duties for the night. Countless emails had been sent, multiple calls made, and the agents were exhausted. The stress and panic from their close call finally seemed to hit them as they sat quietly in their room.

They stayed in their thoughts for a bit, neither wanting to interrupt the other, especially as their own minds raced. After a while Owen stood from the desk and sat on the empty bed, facing Curt.

“Great quick thinking earlier. And thank you.”

Curt looked up at the sound of the other man’s voice, startled back into reality, “Hm? For what?”

“The fences check? You easily could’ve just rushed on into it, but you didn’t, and… I appreciate it, thank you.”

“It’s important to you, clearly. I wasn’t going to ignore that.”

Curt had stated that as if it was obvious. As if anyone would’ve done the same. Owen knew that was untrue. No, Curt was considerate and understanding and kind. And so he asked. He checked in. And that meant more to Owen than he knew how to communicate.

“And, um,” Curt cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact with Owen. “I’m sorry for earlier. It’s just been a while, you know, spy life and all, and--”

Owen cut him off before he could ramble his apologies even further, “No, no, don’t even worry about it. It’s natural.”

“Well, yeah, I know, but it still shouldn’t have happened.”

Owen shook his head, assuring the other man, “No, love, it’s not that simple. Natural reaction and all, your body got carried away, lost in the moment. Not much reasoning you can do. It’s fine. I’ve been there.”

Curt still hadn’t looked Owen in the eyes, face a bright red as he looked at the floor across the room, “More theatre stories?”

Owen let out a small laugh, “Yeah, actually. Happened more than I’d like to admit. You hear about it all the time, showmances. I once played opposite some girl I’d never really gotten on with. Had trouble separating my own emotions from the role, and we ended up dating through the run of the show. Only to break up right after closing when we realized there was zero real attraction there. It’s common stuff.”

“That sucks.”

“Eh,” Owen brushed it off, “Not really my type, anyway. So no worries,” he reached forward to pat Curt on the knee. “For you I will take it as neither insult nor compliment.”

Curt scoffed, “You wish. You  _ would _ use this opportunity to stroke your own ego, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, Curt Mega, you wound me!”

“Alright, drama queen,” he laughed at the other man. “Got an early flight tomorrow, think you’re too offended to sleep?”

“I shall get but a fitful rest after the heartbreak I have just endured.”

That got him a pillow to the face.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this one! As always, let me know if you think there should be!

It happened suddenly one day. Owen had gotten home from the US in the early hours of the morning, exhausted from the travel. In order to fight off the inevitable jet lag, he decided to do some reading. It had been a while since he had found enough time to do so recently, work keeping him quite busy and exhausting him terribly enough that reading never seemed to be very high on his list of priorities. Today he had the day off and plenty of time to kill, so he curled up on his sofa, play in hand.

It was one he read rarely, not one he kept with him abroad, so he felt a wonderful mixture of both familiarity and novelty as he engrossed himself in the story.

_ MARY: Oh! He is in my thoughts all day long, when I wake, when I rest, when I close my eyes, and even when I open them. Everything is him! I fear I am so terribly in love. _

_ ABIGAIL: What such distraction! Can that be afforded? With the condition of your employment— _

_ MARY: Oh, I don’t care! It’s too wonderful! Simply too wonderful! You know… it’s been so long. So long since I’ve had anyone. Well, I’ve had you, I suppose, but I cannot ignore that the sense of duty and status plays a large part of your companionship, you needn’t deny it, I know. But apart from that. I don’t really have a family. And I was oh so alone. And then he came in. Waltzed right through the door and into my heart! _

_ ABIGAIL: But he’s so contrary! _

_ MARY: Yes, but he’s mine! Oh how glorious to be in love! _

He couldn’t help it. It was involuntary, of course, and unstoppable. Owen’s thoughts drifted. He felt the impact of these words as they mirrored his own life, giving him the words he had tried so hard to keep out of his thoughts. The feeling wasn’t cold, it wasn’t sharp. It was warm. Those words, those feelings, those emotions felt like home. They felt like Curt.

He needed a moment. Owen slammed the play closed and dropped it onto the table in front of him, hiding his face in his hands as he tried to process this intense moment of realization.

He was in love. He was in love with Curt Mega.

No. No no no. This could not be real. Their relationship is entirely pretend, he’s just confused is all. He is not in love. Sure, he’s lonely. He would like to be in love. He’s sure it would be wonderful, if he was in love, but he’s not, so there’s no need to long for it. He doesn’t have anyone, but he doesn’t need anyone.

It was in this moment that his phone vibrated next to him. He picked it up immediately, willing to try anything to get his mind off what he had read, what he had just been thinking about.

He was faced with no relief, it seems, for he had a text from Curt waiting. Glancing at the time, Owen noticed the early hour for the other man. He texted him first thing in the morning. Owen’s stomach fluttered at the thought.

_ If you’re asleep I’m gonna kick your ass _

Owen couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Warmth spread through him. They had fallen into the habit of keeping each other from submitting to jetlag, and the tradition brought a smile to his face.

_ I’m awake, no ass-kicking necessary,  _ he shot back to the other man,  _ though I would be interested to see how that would work when you’re all the way across the pond. _

_ You underestimate me. I’d fly over there just to kick your ass _

The thought of Curt flying to see Owen, no mission required, made the latter’s stomach flutter a bit, and he found he was suppressing a small giggle. What is going on with him? How did this man have such an effect on him? Owen Carvour did not giggle. He’d had crushes before, sure, but this all felt so new. Suddenly he felt a bit sick. He pulled himself together enough to answer the other man before pushing all remaining thoughts about Curt out of his mind.

_ Maybe next time, love _

Owen couldn’t keep his mind off Curt forever. No matter what he chose to distract himself with, he always unintentionally found some connection, something that reminded him of his partner. He just couldn’t help but think about the other man. How his eyes sparkled when he told a joke. How he held his gaze just a bit too long before breaking away every time. How easy, how domestic, it felt preparing and debriefing before and after their missions together. How it felt to hold him close during those select missions he was lucky enough to experience...

_ Distance. De-roll. Come on, Carvour, you’re a professional. Professionals do not fall in love with their partners. That is dangerous, not to mention reckless. _

Owen blamed the amount of covers they had been given posing the two as a couple and the amount of times the spies themselves had decided on the trope since it was easy. Even when it wasn’t necessary. Even when they had no need for the relationship cover, Curt had his arm around Owen’s waist and a flirty smile on his face. God, he was in it.

But was it wrong for Owen to enjoy it? That he let himself get lost in those moments, just a bit? Of course, the job came first, but he could afford a few moments to soak it in. What it would be like. What it could be like.

He continued to scold himself. Why was he letting himself get so carried away? He was a professional, damn it, he could handle this. He knew emotions could be confusing. He knew the brain got mixed up with the pretending. He knew all of this. It didn’t stop the thoughts and feelings and daydreams and worries from clouding his mind, but logic should have been enough. Owen just needed to stay strong, and it would just go away. But something deep inside of him held firm that this was different. That this was real. And he wanted to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i gave up trying to find an excerpt from a play that said quite what i wanted, so enjoy my very obvious and not at all nuanced script writing


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: kidnapping (mentioned), torture (mentioned), injury (alluded to), swirling/panicked thoughts
> 
> almost forgot what day it was, whoops!

This was not at all how Owen had been expecting his day to go. This was not at all what he expected his meeting to be about. He did not expect to be called into his director’s office. He did not expect to be told that Curt was in danger. He did not expect to blow off work for a couple days in favor of flying to D.C.

It wasn’t until he was on the flight that he allowed the information to settle. He replayed the day’s events in his mind as the plane took to the air, leaving him floating, a feeling of unease coming over him that had little to do with the rising altitude.

“Carvour?”

Owen looked up to see his director motioning him into his office. The two men sat opposite each other, a strange pause landing between them before Anthony spoke.

“I’ve called you here today as we have just received news that may impact you. As of now, there is no confirmation that any intel has been leaked, but there is a chance.”

Owen stayed silent as his boss talked, mind racing to try to figure out where this was going.

“Last night A.S.S. Agent Curt Mega was captured during a botched mission.”

Owen’s heart stopped.

“There has been little communication over what has happened since his kidnapping, nothing apart from Agent Mega’s distress message. As we speak there is a rescue team on their way to get him back and clean up any loose ends. Now, due to your frequent partnership with Agent Mega, there is bound to be confidential MI6 information at stake here as well. We figured it best you knew what was happening.”

Owen blinked. They got Curt. Someone has Curt. Someone has him or had him or something. Suddenly his mind sprang to life and adrenaline pumped through him, hands twitching with restless energy as his thoughts raced.

“Sir, I’m going to need the next few days leave.”

And with that Owen jumped up from his seat and sped out of the building. His body moved automatically through the streets, into his flat, packed a bag, booked a flight to D.C., and began his journey, all while his mind continued to jump along from thought to thought to worry to fear to anger to hope. He moved on autopilot. He just knew he had to get to Curt.

Despite the long flight Owen was still running on adrenaline after he landed. He bulldozed straight into A.S.S. headquarters, ignoring the receptionist trying to get him to check in. He had no time for explanations or idle chatter. He needed to know if Curt was safe.

Owen shoved past Susan and opened an office door.

“Owen Carvour, glad you could make it. Madeline did say you seemed to be on a mission, blatantly ignoring her attempts to check you in,” she shot a glare to the man before continuing, “I suppose this isn’t a social call then?”

Owen stood in front of her desk, chest heaving as his rush began to catch up with him. “Curt. Where is he?”

“Mm. I can’t tell you. But, he’s fine, he’ll live. Nothing too bad, and he should only be out for a couple weeks at most, thank God. Lord knows I hate to say it, but he’s the most competent agent we have. Can’t risk losing him for too long.”

Owen just stood there, staring as Cynthia unloaded this information with nonchalance.

“Anyways, you’re a mess. I suggest you go check into a hotel and fix that. You will be notified as soon as Mega is clear for visitors.”

And with that Owen was shuffled out of Cynthia’s office by Susan, still too stunned and exhausted from his whirlwind day to protest.

His autopilot took over once again until he was safe in his hotel, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed. It was still far too early in the day for Owen to sleep, exhausted as he was, if he wanted to have any sense of time while he was in the States. In his rush and worry he hadn’t even packed any reading material, which normally seemed to be second-nature to him. Suddenly faced with nothingness, no plans, no company, he was faced with his thoughts. And all at once everything hit him.

The worry, the fear, the anger, the confusion, the loss. He’s going to lose Curt. He’s going to lose him just like he lost his family, just like he’s lost everyone important to him. He’s going to be alone again.

Owen hadn’t felt this lost, this enraged in years. Yes, he was angry. Angry with the villains who kidnapped Curt, hurt him, tortured him, whatever they did. And Curt who would have stood his ground. He was loyal to his country and his agency. He would withstand plenty, too much if you asked Owen, anything for his agency. Owen’s anger raged as his thoughts continued to rush. What happened? What went wrong? Where was Curt’s support? His comm team? His backup? Why didn’t he have a partner? Where was anyone? What happened that he was left on his own, with no escape, no way out but to comply?

His life isn’t expendable. He’s an agent. He’s a human being, not just some pawn in whatever stupid game they’re playing. He should have been protected. He never should have been left in that situation.

Owen’s mind raced on and on. Hours passed as he allowed the emotions to flow through him, unmoving from his spot on the bed. At some point he fell asleep, exhaustion overtaking him. But that did nothing to stop his thoughts from swirling throughout the night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

As soon as Curt’s location was in Owen’s inbox the next morning, he was out the door. He needed to see him. He needed to be sure he was alright.

Owen made it to the safehouse, and the agent stuck with babysitting duty pointed him towards a bedroom door before taking back his post. The man made his way over, knocking on the door hesitantly. Unsure of what was to come.

“Come in,” a voice called out.

Curt. It was him. Relief flooded through Owen’s system at the proof of Curt’s life. He was here. He was okay. Fueled by this sudden relief, Owen opened the door to see him propped up in bed.

Curt’s attention was brought to the door as soon as it creaked open.

_ Owen! He was here! What? He was here?  _ He froze in shock.

“Hi.”

Owen stood in the doorway, immediately overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of his partner.

“Hello.”

They stared at each other, each taking in the moment, the sight of their partner suddenly before them.

“Did you want to come in?”

“Right.”

Owen regained control of his body and made his way further into the room, closer to Curt. The latter patted the bed beside him, and Owen stiffly sat next to him, still transfixed by the reality that Curt was okay.

After a moment Owen cleared his throat.

“How are you?”

“Eh. I’m fine. Sore. A bit bruised. Got some new scars. Fucking exhausted all the time,” he shrugged. “I’m alive.”

Even as he brushed it all off Owen could tell Curt was downplaying his real status.

“Yeah,” Owen breathed out. “You’re alive.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” Curt shot at Owen, a smirk playing at his lips.

Owen let out a soft huff at the other man, but it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it. Rage began to bubble underneath his cautious exterior.

“I can’t believe this happened.  _ How _ did this happen? What fucking excuse did Cynthia give you?”

Curt rolled his eyes. “Owen--”

“No partner? No backup? God knows how many hours they left you there alone. You could have been killed!”

“Owen, I’m fine--”

“Don’t they know that your life is important? Or how fucking terrified I was? How I was left with a warning that my information may be compromised rather than the fact that my partner was inches from death? Don’t they see how fucked up that is? How much I care about you, and how messed up it is that they don’t bat an eye at the thought of losing you, while I spiral into a panicked mess at the very thought?”

Curt was taken aback, staring at Owen, eyes wide as this passionate information rushed into him.

Owen caught his breath and met his partner’s gaze. There were tears glazing his eyes. Curt noted somewhere in the back of his mind that he had never seen Owen cry before.

“I thought that was it. The mission you wouldn’t come back from.”

Curt’s heart hurt at the pain in Owen’s voice, the message all too familiar.

“But I came back. I’m here.”

Curt offered a small smile. Owen returned it, somehow still able to hold the tears that threatened to fall back. The men collided in an embrace. Curt squeezed tightly as Owen hesitantly surrounded the other man with his arms, overly-cautious of angering any fresh injuries. They held each other for a moment before pulling away.

As their arms retracted Owen was taken over with the immense feelings he had for the other man. Before they could return to their own bubbles, he reached for the other man’s face and connected their lips in a kiss.

And Curt returned it before pulling away.

“Owen?” he asked softly.

The other man’s eyes fluttered open at his name. They were still very close, faces inches apart, eyes still out of focus.

“I think we need to stop.”

Owen’s eyes immediately drifted back into focus as he pulled away.

“What?” he asked hesitantly.

Curt let out a breath as he prepared his next thought, his heart pounding.

“Can we not do that anymore? The kissing, the intimacy… There’s no reason to. I know we’re used to it now, and it just feels natural, but I think it’d be better if we didn’t.”

Owen’s heart shattered. He thought he read him correctly, thought there was something there. But he was wrong.

“I know we’re close. I just don’t want to complicate things. I don’t need to be any more confused than I already am.”

Once again Owen’s eyes burned as tears threatened to fall. He held them back, standing firm once again behind the mask he had let fall just a moment earlier. “What’s so confusing?”

“This. Us. Whatever this is. I don’t know.” Curt hid his face in his hands, obviously frustrated with his internal monologue, unable to find the right words. He took a deep breath. “I know you said it’s normal to get confused. When you’re acting out the part. But I don’t think that’s all this is. And I think for your sake we shouldn’t keep acting like it’s nothing.”

Owen was terrified. Had he really been that obvious? He thought he hadn’t been, but obviously Curt knew and he was trying to let him down easily… Oh God, he’d ruined it. He was going to be alone again. He really was about to lose Curt this time.

“What are you saying?” he managed to get out, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

Curt stared into space between them, wringing his hands as he worked up the courage to speak.

“I’m saying that all this intimacy stuff has to go. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me. It’s fine if it’s necessary on a mission or whatever, but--” he let out a sigh, “That’s it. Only as much as needed, and only when absolutely necessary.”

Owen felt his heart sink. His head was racing but no thoughts were coherent enough for him to speak clearly, “I- erm- okay, yeah, if that’s what you want. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, don’t worry, you really didn’t.” A wry smile twisted Curt’s mouth, “But I think it’s for the best.”

Owen nodded and stood. “Right. Well…” He plastered a smile on his face as his heart shattered. “I’m glad you’re alright. I truly am. Rest up. Can’t have this delaying our joint-missions too long,” he forced the joke out.

“Wouldn’t want you to turn into even more of a stick in the mud without me around.”

The banter was light, as if a bomb hadn’t been dropped. But inside both men struggled to keep their eyes bright, agony threatening to overtake them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one, so i'm uploading two chapters today since i didn't wanna cut this part out!

Lost, broken-hearted, and without want to stay where the pain was greatest, Owen made his way back home.

The next few evenings Owen was faced with an acute, burning sense of fear, of loneliness. Of loss. He did it. He lost Curt. He’s alone again. Only this time he drove him away. This time there’s no one to blame but himself.

Sure, Curt didn’t  _ say _ that he no longer wants to partner with Owen, not in so many words. But he knew how this worked. Owen knew it would just get awkward. Nothing will be the same after this, and they’ll grow apart and not trust each other as much, and their teamwork will falter because of it, and soon they will say goodbye, only to reunite during stuck-up work functions with international espionage organizations.

All because Owen had gotten caught-up in his emotions and let his heart do the talking. No. That’s what the brain is for. He needs to be logical and calculated. No more impulsive actions motivated by feeling or emotion. No more assumptions. He can’t afford to get swept away by emotion.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains major character injury and descriptions of gun violence, arson, and other spy fighting stuff

Owen was unable to hide the look of surprise on his face when Anthony informed him of his next mission with Curt, just over a month later.

“Now, do not worry. Agent Mega is in perfectly fine condition to be back in the field.”

Owen wasn’t about to explain the actual reason for his surprise, so he nodded instead, “Of course. I’m sure he’s been examined thoroughly by A.S.S.”

“Right you are,” Anthony confirmed before diving into the specifics of Owen’s travel arrangements and the details of the case.

When at last they were together again, it was almost normal. They almost felt at peace, reunited again. Almost. It was wonderful for both of them to see the other, but underneath, something lurked. Some fear, some awkwardness, some anxiousness… something. Whatever it was, thankfully it faded when time came for the mission to begin, and their effortless partnership was uninhibited.

The pair of spies softly made their way into the factory, easily taking out the guards at the door. The silencers on their pistols aided their stealth as they slid the bodies into the shadows and crept further towards their destination.

They worked wonderfully together, taking out the bad guys in harmony, beautifully executing in smooth, silent motions. Only when one of the guards turned sooner than anticipated did the partners allow themselves to move quickly, no longer caring for the noise they may make. The building had been alerted. More guards would be on their way, it was no use hiding. Besides, though it’s easier to take out more bad guys the longer they are unaware of your presence, it’s even nicer when they come to you. And a hell of a lot more fun.

Curt and Owen moved in tandem, taking out anyone who got close enough to them and seamlessly covering for each other while reloading. An alarm began blaring soon enough, and the spies knew they’d have to make their move if this mission was to be a success. One look and they fluidly escaped from the center of the fighting, surprising their enemies. From this vantage point they were able to smoothly take their shots, striking each assailant with a lethal bullet.

Carnage surrounding them, they raced through the factory’s main floor, up the staircase, and over to the main office overlooking production. The three people inside were no match for the destruction Curt and Owen could cause. As soon as the third body dropped, the men got to work hacking into the office computer, with help from Barb on comm of course, wiping the cloud, and setting the room aflame. As quickly as they entered, the pair left the office, success thrumming in their veins as their enemies’ work was destroyed.

But, just as the two men rushed out of the office, a shot rang out. It pierced the air. Time stopped. Curt watched. As Owen was shot, bullet ripping right through his shoulder. The impact caused him to lose balance, and he crashed into the balcony railing and tipped over. Falling, and falling, and landing, hard, on the factory floor. Time zoomed back into real-speed as Curt automatically shot in the direction of Owen’s assailant and rushed down the stairs, down to where his partner lay on the ground, unmoving.

The fire continued to burn on the floor above, but Curt beelined for the other man. He reached him and called out his name. Owen was breathing, heavily, coughing from the impact. He had his eyes screwed tight in pain and his shoulder bled and bled. He wasn’t answering, but he was alive. There was no way he was in any shape to get up, though.

Curt panicked for a moment, unsure of how to move the other man’s body without hurting him more, before resigning to just pick him up, bridal style, and carry him as far away from the burning building as he could.

As soon as he got to the closest, safest place out of range from the building, Curt laid Owen on the ground, and collapsed himself next to him, limbs giving up, chest heaving from the weight and strain and stress and smoke. After giving himself a moment to catch his breath, Curt sat up. He turned on his comm mic.

“This is Agent Mega. Agent Carvour is in need of medical assistance. Gunshot wound to the shoulder and possible injuries due to the impact of falling roughly 20 feet. He is unable to move. We need evac. The office and materials have been destroyed, and most workers were taken out, but I can’t be 100% certain due to my duty to my partner. The building’s interior is in flames, so anyone else left inside probably won’t be looking too hot. Or, they’ll be looking  _ way _ too hot. Either way. Send help, I’m not leaving him here.”

He was notified that medics were on their way and would be there soon. Any other information went in one ear and out the other as he clicked his mic off and turned to Owen. He was still breathing.

“Owen?” Curt reached to touch the man’s face, “Owen, I need you to open your eyes.”

The man let out a choked groan in response, and his eyes fluttered open for a brief moment.

“That’s good. Now, stay with me. I need you to stay awake,” Curt continued to caress his cheek, hoping the sensation would be enough to remind him to keep his eyes open. They continued to flutter closed and open again every few moments. Curt continued talking to him. Owen’s blinks became more languid, and Curt began to fear with each extended blink that his eyes wouldn’t open again.

“Please stay awake. Come on, I need you to stay awake. I’m not gonna lose you,” Curt babbled. “Please, please, Owen. Stay awake. I can’t lose you. I love you, come on. Stay awake for me, please.”

Owen’s eyes remained closed. Curt continued his stream of consciousness as silent tears ran down his face. They stayed that way, hidden together, until medical arrived, taking the unconscious Owen away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protip that has nothing to do with fic-canon: don’t move someone after an impact. I mean, it was either move Owen or have him get burned up, but moving them isn’t good.
> 
> Final chapter next week! Thank you so much for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter! dw i will gush in the end notes
> 
> this chapter includes brief recall of experiencing pain and injury, but nothing in detail

Owen woke to beeps and an eerie stillness in the air. He opened his eyes slowly, only to wince and softly groan at the bright light piercing his groggy eyes.

“You’re up!”

A voice. Surprised. Happy. Worried. Curt.

Owen looked to his left and was greeted by the sight of his partner leaning towards him.

He allowed himself a moment to take in his surroundings. He lay in a white room, two chairs to his left, a counter to his right. He was propped up on a bed. A hospital bed.

The memories of their last mission came back suddenly, and Owen found himself for once at a loss as to how he had gotten there.

“The mission, did we--? Fuck, we’re here, of course we got out of there. But… you’re alright?” he asked, turning towards Curt as he shuffled his chair closer to the man’s bed.

Curt assured him, “I’m fine.”

“Cynthia?”

“Got a talking-to, of course, about watching my partner’s back. But the important thing is that you’re here.”

Owen looked at the other man. He saw the dark circles, the red nose, the phone charger dangling in the wall plug behind him. “You waited for me?”

“Of course.” Curt shot a soft smile his way, and Owen’s heart fluttered at the sight, “But don’t worry,” he held up the phone in his hand, displaying a brightly-colored screen, “I’ve killed  _ so _ many levels of Candy Crush in the meantime.”

They laughed together for a moment, reveling in the present. For once they were together, no threats around, no mission at hand. Just the two of them.

“How are you feeling?”

Owen winced, “Could be better. I must be hopped up on plenty of painkillers though if these bandages are any indication.” He nodded towards his left shoulder, wrapped tightly in gauze and bandaged across his chest.

Curt breathed out, “Good.” He let it sit there before speaking again. “I was so worried.”

“Me too,” Owen admitted.

He was brought back to the moment of and the moments after. The sharp, sudden pain. The stumble, the fall. The impact. The warm spread of pain from his shoulder, his back, his head. The fear. The blurred sight of Curt above him, looking down from the railing he had tumbled over moments before. The fire slowly spreading behind his partner. The fear. The agony. The isolation. The doubt. The relief at seeing Curt’s face again, up close, just for a moment before squeezing his eyes tight again. The drifting. The sound of his name. The sound of Curt’s voice, requesting medics. The sight of his face once more, looking down at him. Trying to listen. Trying to keep his eyes open. Trying to stay awake. Listening to Curt. Holding on to consciousness as tight as he can. The words coming from his partner.  _ Stay awake. Not gonna lose you. Please. Stay awake. Can’t lose you. I love you-- _

Owen’s heart pounded. His thoughts rushed back. He couldn’t let that go.

“Did you mean it?”

Curt squinted at the other man, attempting to follow his logic, “What?”

“I don’t know if you were being real or just saying things to try to keep me awake,” Owen let out a breath, “but I’m not gonna let this chance pass me by.”

“Owen, I don’t underst--”

“I love you.”

Time stopped. Curt looked into the other man’s eyes. They were honest, sincere, and maybe just a little bit scared. Owen continued.

“I love you, and I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I tried to keep it out of the way, and push it down, and get rid of it, but, Curt Mega, you are relentless, I swear. And I don’t know if you meant it, but you told me you loved me, and I can’t pretend like that doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Curt was silent for once in his life as he stared at Owen pouring his soul out in front of him.

“And I apologize for using our partnership as an excuse to feign intimacy and a real relationship with you. And I know I got caught up, and I know I did not take you into account, but, my God, you are incredible. Who can blame me for wanting to be next to you, to have my arm around you, to call you pet names, and hold your hand, and kiss you whenever I wanted.” Owen’s face burst with joy at the thought. He locked eyes with Curt and spoke directly to his heart, “You are the most intoxicating person I know. And I may be screwing up our partnership by saying this, but,” he sighed, “I love you, Curt Mega.”

There was a pause. Then Curt let out a soft laugh.

“Owen Carvour, you limey bastard,” he laughed. “I knew I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but I had higher hopes for you.”

He leaned closer to the other man and cupped his cheek with a hand.

“I love you too.”

He brought their faces into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much for reading, i'm so glad this is finally out there for you all to read! this idea has been living in my head since january, and i am very excited to share it with you! much love to those who have stuck with this, those who left comments and kudos and subscriptions, you have fueled my inspiration in regards to this fic and i am very grateful for your continued enthusiasm. you have made me feel welcome and i truly appreciate it <3 i hope to write more of these two soon
> 
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @ billtedrights


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